Everything you fear we’ll call you

for whom the clitoris is a satellite of hell
mutilators is a good word
but
you can mutilate art or
a good dinner or a doe
if you don’t stab her right
no
maybe we should call you perfumed ladies
soft-skinned and flushing in your trill desires
everything you fear we’ll call you
every clitoris has a soul
and when you die
your virgins in paradise
will not have clitorises
but scissors for when
you sleep exhausted from
dreaming of your mothers